


dirty blues

by AliuIce0814



Series: sweet little headache [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dirty Talk, First Time, Frottage, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 04:29:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9304214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliuIce0814/pseuds/AliuIce0814
Summary: Bucky comes home from work all hot and sweaty. Steve's got just one thing on his mind.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleBird20](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleBird20/gifts).



> This is another old fic that I'm just now posting. (Old as in I had only been dating my wife for a few months when I wrote it.)

          Bucky's always hot and sweaty after work, especially when it's June and about a hundred degrees at the docks. When he comes home with his shirt soaked with sweat, all he wants to do is strip naked and flop on his bed. Sometimes he takes the opportunity to talk dirty to Steve, watching his cheeks get redder and redder. Other times he just falls asleep.

          Today feels like a dirty talk day. Bucky's buzzing with too much energy even though he's been at work for a solid ten hours. It's a dangerous kind of jitteriness, the kind that used to land him in alleyways on his knees, sucking cock like he was getting paid for it. But he has Steve to come home to now.

          (He hasn't sucked Steve's cock yet, but he's working on it.)

          Bucky takes the stairs up to the apartment two at a time. He whistles one of the songs Gene was singing today in the hallway. By the time he comes through the apartment door, he’s singing: “Last night buddy, I caught you kissin' my wife. Don't ya know I'm gonna take your life? I've got the gangster blues. I’ve got the gangster—Jesus, Rogers!”

          Not for the first time, Bucky finds himself slammed back into the door. Usually, Steve remembers to close and lock the door before he tries this, but he must’ve forgot today. The door bangs shut. Bucky bursts out laughing, then groans when Steve scrapes his teeth along his jaw. “Holy God, Steve, what’s got into you?” Not that Bucky’s really complaining. Not when Steve’s trailing those long fingers up and down his back. He’s just—Bucky digs his teeth into his lip to keep from making noise while Steve sucks a hickey on his neck—curious.

          “Been thinking about you all day,” Steve says. His cheeks are flushed. When he looks up at Bucky, his pupils are blown wide. You can hardly see the rim of blue around the black.

           Bucky licks his lips. “You been doing figure drawing again? Did your teacher bring in some nice-looking guy?” If so, he’s a little jealous. He’s been that nice-looking guy before, and while he wound up with Steve’s bite marks on his shoulders, he didn’t get anything near as warm of a welcome as this.

           Steve hums against Bucky’s pulse. Bucky’s knees buckle a little. “He had scratches all over his back. You could tell he’d been—”

          Steve cuts off right there and sets to licking at Bucky’s pulse. Bucky throws an arm over Steve’s shoulders to hold himself upright. He knows Steve can take the weight. He’d better be able to if he’s going to rile Bucky up like this. “Been what, baby doll?” Bucky asks.

           He’s used the same nickname on a dozen girls, but none of them have ever reacted like Steve. His blush spreads down his neck to his chest. Bucky’s never been allowed to see how far that blush goes, but he can guess. “Fucking,” Steve says. The fact that he spits the word just shows how tentative he feels about the subject.

          “Yeah? So what are—” Bucky can’t help the way his voice trails off when Steve’s tongue starts tracing circles just below his ear. He dips his head forward so Steve can reach more skin, so Steve can take whatever it is he’s wanting. “What kinda trouble’re you trying to cause, Rogers?”

          Steve takes a shaky breath. He exhales right into Bucky’s ear. Bucky tightens his hold on Steve’s shoulder, all of his nerves lighting up. Steve takes another breath. His thin fingers wind their way into Bucky’s hair. When he speaks, each word makes Bucky shake a little. “Wanna fuck you.”

          Bucky grabs a fistful of Steve’s shirt. He has to; otherwise he’d damn near fall to his knees. He can’t help the noise that comes out of him, whine or moan, he can’t tell which. He has to be quieter, dammit, the walls are thin as paper, but how’s he supposed to keep his mouth shut when Steve says things like that? Bucky tightens his grip on Steve’s shirt and forces himself to make eye contact. Steve’s expression is stubborn, honestly hungry, but there are those faint lines on his forehead that mean worry, too.

          Bucky swallows. Somehow, he manages to keep from spinning Steve around and pinning him to the door. There’s a reason they haven’t fucked before, though they’ve gotten each other all wound up God knows how many times. Steve’s gorgeous and brave and somehow loves Bucky, but he’s got enough hangups from church and anxiety about himself to last him a lifetime. Bucky’s been trying so hard to take things slow. He tries again now. He lets go of Steve’s now hopelessly-crinkled shirt and rubs a finger over Steve’s burning cheek. “You sure?”

          Steve nods. When he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobs. Bucky loves kissing him there. Once, when Steve was recovering from being sick and wasn’t supposed to leave the apartment for a couple days, Bucky left a hickey there. He wants to leave another one there now. “I’ve wanted you for a long time. You know that, Buck.”

          “And I’ve been patient for a long time. I can keep being patient.” Even though God knows Bucky doesn’t want to. He wants Steve to fuck him—anything, anything Steve wants, Bucky wants to give him. “I just want you to be sure.”

          Steve lunges forward. He doesn’t shove Bucky into the door again, but it’s a near miss with the way Bucky stumbles backward. Steve’s fingers thread through his hair as he kisses him. He’s got a lot more technique now that they’ve been kissing for months. When he slips his tongue into Bucky’s mouth, Bucky groans. Usually Steve pulls back to glare at him and tell him to shut up. Instead, he keeps going, tongue rolling in and out of Bucky’s mouth until Bucky can hardly breathe. Just when Bucky thinks Steve has to pull back or have an asthma attack, Steve bites his lip. Bucky yelps.

          He’s still trying to get his pride back when Steve pulls away. His chest is heaving, and his eyes are a little glassy, but there’s a smug quirk to his lips. He rests his forehead against Bucky’s chin. “I want you, Barnes,” he pants. “You gonna let me have you or not?”

          Bucky could drag this conversation out longer. He’s worried about the way Steve’s breathing and the way he’s thinking, too—is he just doing this to prove himself? That’d be such a Steve thing to do. But then Steve trails a finger from Bucky’s ear, across his pulse, to his collarbone. The light touch makes Bucky’s breath catch. “C’mere, punk,” he rasps. He grabs Steve collar and hauls him into a kiss.

          Steve’s mouth is hot on Bucky’s. He’s goddamn burning, his face is so red. By the time he pulls back, every one of his breaths is coming as a rasp. He goes to work on Bucky's neck anyway, tongue flicking against his pulse. Bucky digs his fingers into Steve's bony shoulders and groans.

          "Shut up," Steve murmurs. The vibration of his voice against Bucky's collarbone drives Bucky nuts. When he digs his teeth into the skin there, Bucky bites his lip hard to keep from whining at the sharp sensation. "You got too big of a mouth on you."

          "And you don't? You're louder'n I am, Rogers." Bucky dips his head, resting his mouth right by Steve's ear. "Bet you'll scream when you come in me."

          Bucky's heart's pounding in his chest when he says it. It's a gamble, saying something as bold as that--Steve's just as likely to get too red-faced to keep going as he is to give Bucky what he wants. Luckily Steve's already in a brash mood. He inhales sharply before he grabs Bucky by the collar and swings him around so his back's toward the bedroom. He puts those long artist's fingers on Bucky's shoulders and pushes hard. His cheeks are stained redder than Bucky's ever seen them before. "Walk," Steve says. His voice is so low and rough that Bucky shivers.

          "Sure thing, boss," Bucky says, trying to keep his voice lighter than he feels as he steps backward toward the bedroom. Apparently saying 'boss' _does something_ to Steve because he breathes in real fast again, and his fingers dig into Bucky's shoulders so tightly that Bucky's sure there'll be bruises. Bucky smirks. "You gonna tell me what to do?"

          "Damn straight," Steve says breathlessly. Bucky stumbles over the loose floorboard between the kitchen and the bedroom and nearly falls. It's Steve's tight hold on him that keeps him upright.

          Then it's Steve's hard shove that has Bucky sprawling backward onto Steve's bed. He doesn't have a chance to catch his breath before Steve's on top of him, unbuttoning his shirt with fumbling fingers. He kisses every inch of skin he exposes. Bucky arches into the touch. Steve's mouth is a goddamn revelation, always has been. Bucky wonders what those lips would feel like on his cock. Then he's not thinking anything because Steve's puts his mouth on Bucky's nipple and sucks. Bucky shoves his fist into his mouth to keep from yelling.

          "Jesus, Buck," Steve says. The look he gives Bucky through his eyelashes is supposed to be annoyed, probably, but all Bucky can see is the baby blue of his eyes. "You're gonna get us kicked out before I even do anything."

          Bucky takes his hand out of his mouth and grabs Steve by the scruff of his neck. "Then you'd better hurry up and do something."

          Steve quirks an eyebrow at him. "Or what?"

          Bucky tangles his legs with Steve's and flips him over. The mattress squeaks beneath them. Steve squeaks, too. It's such a mousy sound from the guy who was just bossing Bucky around that Bucky bursts out laughing. Steve's forehead crinkles, Bucky's only warning before Steve loops an arm around his neck and pulls him into a headlock. Bucky flails, still choking on laughter. Steve's so damn hot against his bare skin.

         "Behave," Steve says sternly.

          Bucky snorts. "Okay, Sister Mary." Steve's eyes narrow. A second later, pain flashes through Bucky's scalp--Steve pulled his hair. Bucky yelps. "Jesus God, Rogers."

         "Behave," Steve growls. He's still tugging Bucky's hair, slowly but surely. Bucky bites his lip to keep from making another, more embarrassing sound. Steve looks so goddamn gorgeous like this, blushing and turned on and a little pissed off. It's all Bucky can do to nod. The motion pulls his hair more. Bucky bites his lip harder.

          Steve loosens his grip on Bucky's neck. He lets go of his hair entirely, smoothing it down into place, suddenly gentle. "Sorry," he says, wincing. "Got a little carried away."

          "Feel free to get carried away all you want." Bucky tilts his head until he can kiss the blue vein in the crook of Steve's elbow. Steve's breath hitches. Bucky smirks and licks at that pulse point, listening to Steve's breaths coming faster and faster.

          "You sure?" Steve says, voice tight. His fingers brush through Bucky's hair tentatively. Bucky can feel the way they twitch, can fell Steve's urge to yank hard. He sucks at Steve's pulse, hoping that's answer enough.

          Sure enough, Steve threads his fingers through Bucky's hair and hauls him upright. The pain is amazing--sharpens Bucky's focus just before Steve drags their mouths together. Bucky wants to put a hand on the mattress to support his weight so he's not crushing Steve, but Steve's got such a tight grip on his hair and his hip that he can't move. All he can do is kiss Steve, give as good as he's got with his tongue and teeth. He can feel himself whining into Steve’s mouth.

          Steve gasps, letting go of Bucky’s hair. Bucky only has a second to miss the sting of Steve’s fingers pulling before Steve swings a leg over his thighs, straddling his lap. Bucky’s mouth goes dry. Steve’s always-ridiculous hair’s a nest at this point. His lips are bitten red; he gnaws at his bottom lip more even as he stares at Bucky through fluttering lashes. “What was that, Barnes?”

            Bucky can feel his cheeks heating up. He shrugs. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

            Steve ever-so-slowly rolls his hips. Bucky’s mouth drops open. He digs his fingers into the sheets so he doesn’t do something stupid like squeeze Steve’s ass until it bruises. “Is that so,” Steve says slowly, voice just a rumble. “Because I heard you make a sound.” Bucky shakes his head, swallowing hard. Steve raises his eyebrows. When he rolls his hips again, Bucky bites his tongue to try to keep from groaning. It doesn’t work. Steve grins, the little shit. “What was that?”

            “Fuck you, Rogers,” Bucky bites out.

            Steve’s grin turns into a full-blown smirk. “Working on it,” he says. Whatever effect he’s going for is ruined by the way he snickers at the end of his sentence—at least until he rises up on his knees and rocks his crotch against Bucky’s bare stomach. Bucky’s elbows buckle. He grabs at the back of Steve’s shirt, hauling him closer, thrusting upward. Steve nearly loses his balance. His fingers scrabble at Bucky’s shoulders, blunt nails scraping his skin, before he manages to right himself. Bucky’s pulse pounds in his ears. His skin burns wherever Steve touches him. Steve huffs. “Watch it.”

            “Watch what? You taking your sweet time? C’mon, Steve,” Bucky drawls. His joints feel all loose like he’s been drinking. When he lifts his hips, Steve puts all his weight in his hands and pushes away from him, fingers digging into Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky lifts his hips again, but Steve’s doing a damn good job of keeping away from him. Bucky tips his head back and pouts. “Come on. Fuck me already.”

            “The mouth on you,” Steve says breathlessly. His arms tremble with the effort of holding himself up. Bucky stares at the fragile blue vein in the crook of his elbow for a moment before he runs his tongue along it. Steve grabs fistfuls of Bucky’s collar, struggling to stay upright, before he gives up and collapses against Bucky, arms shaking. The second his hips meet Bucky’s, Bucky groans. Steve inhales sharply. “Jesus, Buck.”

            “The mouth on you,” Bucky parrots. Steve cuffs him over the head. Bucky laughs, trying to duck out of the way and thrust against Steve at the same time. It works well enough that Steve whines, honest-to-God whines. The high-pitched sound’s such a contrast to Steve’s deep voice that it hits Bucky right in the chest. He bursts out laughing. Steve flushes, the color creeping beneath his shirt. Bucky has a second to see his eyes narrow before Steve’s shoving him back onto the mattress. It’s not a soft mattress, usual tenement stuff, and the motion’s jarring, but Bucky doesn’t give a damn because Steve’s dragging his shirt off of him and sucking at his collarbone like his life depends on it. He flicks Bucky’s nipples, and all of Bucky’s nerves spark. He moans.

            “Bucky,” Steve breathes, leaving wet trails across Bucky’s chest with his tongue. He looks up at Bucky, and Bucky’s breath catches. Steve’s looking at him with blue eyes almost swallowed up by his blown pupils—looking at Bucky like he hung the goddamn sun in the sky. Bucky knows Steve so well, knows he’s a God-fearing man who’d never fall to idolatry, but hell if that isn’t worship in Steve’s glazing eyes. Bucky reaches out and touches Steve’s red cheek, feeling the heat rolling off of his smooth skin. Steve stares at him, utterly still. Then he ducks his head and latches onto Bucky’s nipple.

            Bucky arches right off the bed. He can’t breathe with how good this feels—can’t do anything but moan, noise vibrating from his throat. He grabs at Steve’s starched collar, fumbling for the buttons, for any way to get Steve out of all the clothes he shouldn’t be wearing. Steve hums around Bucky’s nipple. “Jesus!” Bucky chokes out. His fingers slip over the button. Somehow he pops it open, but he can’t get the next button because Steve licks at his skin. Bucky grabs a handful of his birds-nest hair and yanks. Steve whines high in his throat. Bucky’s chest heaves. “Fuck, baby doll. Fuck.”

            Through blurry eyes, Bucky sees Steve blinking up at him. “Gonna make you feel so good,” Steve murmurs. Every puff of his breath skates over Bucky’s bare chest. Bucky bites his torn-up lip to keep from making even more noises. Gene always makes him bite his fist. Not that it matters as much in the back room of the hotel bar as it does here, when all the neighbors are coming home from work, sitting down at their kitchen table just on the other side of the thin plaster wall. Bucky can’t get Steve kicked out. Can’t get himself arrested. But Christ in heaven how is he supposed to keep quiet when Steve’s gentle fingers are tiptoeing across his collarbone?

            “Never been fucked before,” Bucky rasps. The words tumble out without his permission. Steve’s fingers freeze. His forehead gets lined the way it always does when he’s confused. Bucky wets his lips. “I’m always on top. Make Gene bite the pillow.” Steve’s jaw tightens. Usually Bucky likes it when Steve gets possessive like this, but not now when he’s so close to finally getting the one thing he hasn’t had with Steve yet. “It’s different with him. He’s not you. He’s not important as you,” and Christ, it kills Bucky to say it, but it’s true. Gene’s great, but he’ll never be tiny fierce Steve. Bucky could keep going if Gene died. It’d be Hell, but he’d keep going. Bucky’s seen Steve on his deathbed before. He knows he couldn’t exist without Steve.

          “I love you,” Bucky says, and his voice cracks but he doesn’t care. He rocks his hips upward to meet Steve’s. Steve blinks rapidly, his thin chest rising and falling beneath his sweat-soaked shirt. His Adam’s apple bobs. Bucky cranes his head and nips him there. Steve yelps and digs blunt fingernails into Bucky’s bare shoulders. “Jesus God I love you, punk.” Bucky swipes his tongue along Steve’s skin, tasting salt. Steve shudders. He’s so fragile, God dammit, his pulse flutters so fast beneath Bucky’s tongue and it kills him, but his thin hands are strong enough to cradle Bucky’s head and press his face to his skin, a wordless demand for more. “Never let someone fuck me before,” Bucky says against Steve’s pulse. His own heart’s hammering along. “Never let someone do this to me before, baby doll, it’s just you. It’s all you. You’re all I want. Want you in me, Steve, Christ but I want that, c’mon, please, you’re all I want—”

            Steve shoves Bucky onto his back again. His hot mouth brushes against Bucky’s pulse, his nipples, his stomach, his hip before Steve rests his lips against Bucky’s ear. “You’re all mine,” he whispers like the heartbreaking secret it is.

            Bucky swallows hard. He can’t control the way his hips thrust against Steve’s thigh. “And you’re my baby doll,” he says, running his fingers down Steve’s spine. Steve’s muscles draw tight. He lets out a noise that’s half a yell. Bucky can feel himself grinning. “God, Stevie, listen to you. You gonna make noise like that when you fuck me?”

            “Not unless you wanna sleep on the street,” Steve grumbles. He’s got the most gorgeous scowl, hair flopping into his narrowed eyes. When Bucky smirks, Steve grabs his hand and pops one of his fingers into his mouth. The wet sucking’s too much. Bucky has to bite down on his free hand to muffle his sounds. Steve’s heart and lungs are too weak for it, but mother of God does Bucky want those pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock. The heat in his stomach’s almost unbearable. If Steve keeps this up Bucky’ll come in his pants. Bucky’d tell him that, but he’s busy trying not to get them evicted. Slowly, Steve lets Bucky’s finger slide out of his mouth. He licks his lips, the bastard, and bats those too-long lashes. “You gonna behave?”

            Bucky snorts and lets his hand fall away from his mouth. There are purple marks where his teeth dug into his skin. “Like you are,” he gasps.

            Steve pushes off Bucky’s shoulders and rolls away, nearly falling off the bed. Bucky whines, reaching for him, but Steve shoves his hand away. “Roll over,” he says. His voice is tight. Nervous all of a sudden, Bucky realizes, his heart sinking a little. And they got this far. He wants Steve to enjoy himself, not to be miserable. Not to be scared. He wants him to feel good.

            Bucky doesn’t know what to do in this situation. He’s never been in this situation with Steve. But he knows Steve, knows what helps him when his brain’s latched onto an idea and wants to worry it to death. He makes sure to smirk at Steve before he rolls slowly onto his stomach. “Sure thing,” he drawls. “Boss.”

            Ninety pounds of Steve Rogers land right on Bucky’s back. All of Bucky’s breath comes out in an oomph. “Damn straight,” Steve growls. He grabs Bucky’s hair and yanks. Bucky barely has time to gasp at the pressure before Steve rolls off his back again. “Stay there,” he says shortly. “I’ll be right back.”

            “Sure thing, cap’n,” Bucky says. He can hear his heart in his ears. “Permission to take off my pants?”

            “Permission to shove it up your ass,” Steve grumbles.

            Bucky grins into the sheets. “That’s your job.”

            He’s expecting the pillow that bounces off the back of his head. “Take off your goddamn pants, Barnes,” Steve growls. The floorboards between the bedroom and the kitchen creak. Bucky can just glimpse Steve hiding himself behind the door as he sits up to strip off his pants. It’s a relief to get them off; his fly was getting pretty tight around his dick. The action makes Bucky’s heart lurch faster, though. He’s not scared. Who’s scared of a little fucking? Nah, he’s not scared, but he’s picking up on Steve’s worry. Fear of going to Hell? Maybe. More likely Steve’s worried about screwing this up.

            “C’mon, punk,” Bucky calls. He sits on the edge of the bed, hands resting on his knees. His whole body’s jittering with the thought that he’s this close to being touched by Steve. This close to having those long fingers in him, fucking hell—Bucky takes a deep breath to steady himself. Can’t start whining when Steve isn’t even in the room. That’s just embarrassing. “What, you doin’ your makeup? You look just fine, doll.”

            “Fuck you.” Steve’s voice is muffled. When he steps out from behind the door, Bucky’s breath catches in his throat. He’s seen Steve naked a hundred times, but not like this: hair mussed, lips bitten lipstick-red, cock hard. He’s got one of those little pots of Vaseline in his hand. His jaw’s got that set to it that it gets whenever Steve’s feeling particularly stubborn.

          Bucky wets his lips and leans back on his elbows. “That’s the plan.”

            Steve’s eyes widen. He moves so quickly that Bucky doesn’t have time to react before Steve’s straddling his lap. Every one of his kisses is hard and hot, his tongue fucking into Bucky’s mouth. He drops the Vaseline on the bed and smoothes his hands down Bucky’s sunburned arms. Bucky moans, tugging at Steve’s bottom lip with his teeth. When he barely touches Steve’s spine, Steve lurches forward, cock brushing against Bucky’s stomach. Bucky groans and runs his fingers up Steve’s spine.

            Steve makes a strangled sound and lurches forward again. “Bucky,” he chokes. Bucky can feel the heat radiating off of him.

            “What, baby doll?” Bucky says softly. He barely touches Steve’s back. Steve drops his forehead onto Bucky’s shoulder and thrusts. Every one of his breaths is a ragged gasp. When Bucky traces figure-eights on his back, Steve groans. “You like that, huh? That’s new. I didn’t know that.” Bucky gently scratches his fingernails along Steve’s soft skin. Steve’s rough inhales start to come as whines. Bucky’s eyes flutter shut. “Shh. Gotta be quiet. Gotta be quiet to fuck me, remember? Fuck, Stevie, you feel so good. Your dick feels so good, baby doll, oh Christ.” Steve whimpers and grinds harder against Bucky. Bucky grits his teeth to keep from yelling or coming or both. “Please, Stevie, c’mon, feel even better in me. Please, you said you would.” His voice is as quiet as he can get it. It’s not very quiet. Jesus, he’s going to yell and get them kicked out, and he won’t even care. “You said you’d do it. You said you’d fuck me. C’mon, don’t go back on your word. Stevie, Stevie, doll, please. Oh fuck!”

            Thin fingers thread through Bucky’s hair and yank. Bucky’s eyes fly open. Steve’s panting, eyes glazed, chest heaving almost dangerously with every thrust. Bucky starts to worry, think he should put a stop to this and get Steve an asthma cigarette, but then Steve’s sliding off his lap and shoving at his shoulders. Bucky’s stomach is slick with Steve’s precum. He groans as he lies back on the bed. “Wan’ me on my back or my stomach?” Bucky asks. He’s already slurring his words, fucking hell, what is Steve doing to him?

            Steve hesitates, fingers dipped in the pot of Vaseline. “Which is better?” he asks. For the first time, he really sounds uncertain.

            Bucky inhales slowly and forces himself to think. “On my stomach this time,” he decides. “Easier for you the first time.”

            Steve nods. “Won’t get to see your face,” he says ruefully.

            “Next time,” Bucky promises. He rolls onto his stomach. After a moment’s thought, he grabs the pillow Steve threw at him and rests it beneath his head. Sooner or later, he knows he’ll need to bite it. “Next time,” he repeats. His nerves are buzzing with the knowledge that Steve’s somewhere just behind him. “You’ll get to look at my face while you’re in me, see what I look like when you make me come.”

            Long fingers grab Bucky’s ass and squeeze. He presses his face into the pillow to muffle his groan and gets a feather in his mouth. “I’m gonna,” Steve says, voice strangled. “I’m gonna, uh—”

            Bucky grits his teeth. “What, Rogers, gettin’ shy? Too shy to tell me you’re going to _oh sweet Christ_.”

            There’s a finger pushing into Bucky, slim and slick. He digs his teeth into the pillow, but noise still grinds out of his throat. His hips jerk back into the stretch and pressure, forward into mattress, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, _Steve. Steve_.”

            Steve’s finger stills. “Am I hurting you? Are you okay? Shit, I’ll stop—”

            “If you stop I’ll kick your scrawny ass all the way to Jersey,” Bucky growls. “Come on, you fucking punk. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.”

            The next second, Bucky has to bite the pillow again. Steve’s finger curls in him, a come-here gesture that makes every single nerve in Bucky’s ass and back and dick light up. He grabs fistfuls of the sheet, trying not to yell. A whine creeps out of him instead.

            “Holy God,” Steve says, voice all soft and reverent. “Look at you, Buck, oh my God, you feel so—” He inhales sharply. His breath shivers. His finger rubs slow circles inside Bucky. Bucky can’t swallow. His breath comes in pants. “So hot, so…oh God, Bucky, are you okay? Can I…can I….”

            “Yes! God, Steve. Oh fuck.” Bucky drops the sheets and grabs the headboard instead because he swears to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that he’ll rip the damn linen from the way Steve’s finger moves in him. His stomach twists as he rocks his hips against the mattress. “Steve, Steve, baby doll, you feel so good, you’re so—you’re so—ah, Christ.”

            Steve doesn’t reply using words; he whimpers. His finger stops moving entirely. Bucky thrusts back against him, desperate for that smooth in-and-out. Then Steve collapses onto his back, forehead against his shoulderblade, dick against his thigh, and thrusts.

           Bucky moans. “Too loud, too loud,” he mumbles, more to himself than anything because he’s pretty sure Steve can’t hear him right anymore. Steve’s just moving against him, hips rocking, finger moving deeper and deeper into him. “Oh God, Stevie, baby, baby doll, you feel so good. Shit, you feel good, keep a finger in me all day, do anything you want—baby doll, you’re so good. You’re so good. Oh, fuck—”

            Bucky knows this is easier, but he wishes he’d told Steve to fuck him facing him. He wants to see how red Steve’s face must be, wants to see how his eyelashes flutter the way they’re fluttering against Bucky’s spine. He lets go of the headboard and reaches a shaking hand back to Steve. Steve grabs on tight, fingers lacing through Bucky’s and squeezing so hard that his knuckles must be white. When Bucky grinds back against Steve, another one of Steve’s fingers slides against Bucky’s ass, questioning without words. Bucky tips his head back, choking on Steve’s name. “Please,” he says. God, he’ll beg his whole life if he has to. All he wants is Steve. “Please, Stevie, please.”

            When Steve slides a second finger into him, Bucky bites his lip so hard he tastes blood. Steve’s fingers draw figure eights inside of him, dragging all kinds of muffled whimpers out of Bucky’s bitten-raw mouth. His fingernails scrabble at the back of Steve’s hand. Then Steve shifts his fingers just a little and hits this spot and holy God holy God—

            “Shh, Bucky, God,” Steve says, making this huffing sound that might be a laugh because Bucky’s just yelled. His throat’s raw from it and from trying to hold a second scream back. “Bucky….” His sweet slim fingers just dance over that spot, and Bucky’s writhing, clawing the back of Steve’s free hand and trying so damn hard not to make any more noise. “Bucky, look at you, look, just, ah, Bucky—” Steve’s voice is getting rougher, tighter, trailing off into a series of whines so high-pitched Bucky can’t believe they’re coming from deep-voiced Steve. His thrusts against Bucky’s thigh are getting faster, erratic. Bucky’s stomach swoops and dives like he’s on the Cyclone as Steve’s fingers press and stroke in him, God, in him. He realizes in a momentary burst of clarity that he’s not getting Steve’s dick in him tonight. He realizes in another burst of clarity that he doesn’t give a good goddamn.

            “C’mon, baby doll,” Bucky rasps, digging his fingers into Steve’s shaking hand. “C’mon, Stevie, you’re so good, you’re a dream, you are, Stevie, you’re so damn good, fuck, holy fuck.” He bites his lip, really drawing blood this time, but he can’t hold back the moan that rattles his chest when Steve twists his fingers inside him. “I know you’re so close, you’re bein’ so good, you’re—” Bucky arches up, back drawn tight, toes curling. He’s damn close too, God, his heart’s racing, he knows he’s making too much noise but he can’t stop. Steve ruts against him harder, curses Bucky’s never heard him use spilling out of his mouth, breath hot against Bucky’s sweat-cooled skin. Then—then—

            Steve’s teeth sink into Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky’s skin vibrates with Steve’s scream.

            Bucky comes hard.

            When he comes back to himself a little, muscles trembling, Steve’s pressed up against his back. He pulls his fingers out of Bucky all slow and gentle, but Bucky still moans. “Sorry,” Steve says in a shivering voice. He’s still hard against Bucky’s thigh.

            Bucky shakes his head. “S’good. You’re so good, baby doll.” Steve makes one of those pretty high-pitched sounds and thrusts against Bucky just once before going still again. Bucky gets the picture pretty quick. Even with his muscles all shaky and his head all dizzy from a damn-near-perfect orgasm, he’s still stronger than scrawny little Steve. Especially when Steve’s all drunk on sex. Bucky rolls over and hauls Steve on top of him. Like that, he can see how blown-wide Steve’s pupils are. Like that, he can see the way his blush stretches from his head all the way down to his stomach. Steve’s breath comes in the most gorgeous little gasps. His eyelids flutter when he looks at Bucky. His hands tremble when he grabs ahold of Bucky’s arms. After a moment, Bucky realizes it’s from the effort of not rocking his hips.

            “What you holding back for, honey?” Bucky prods.

            “Was gonna.” Steve swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Was gonna fuck you.”

            “You did, baby doll. Got me to come all over myself.” Bucky arches up to press his sticky-wet stomach against Steve. Steve’s eyes actually roll back into his head. Bucky cups a hand around the back of Steve’s sweaty head and brings him down to rest against his collarbone. “You gonna come for me?” He can feel Steve’s uneven breaths against his pulse. “You gonna be good and come for me?”

            Bucky presses his thigh against Steve’s crotch. Steve honest-to-God screams. Bucky slaps a hand over his mouth before he can make any more noise. “Now who’s gonna get us kicked out?” he whispers. Steve groans and nips at his hand, hips rocking against Bucky’s thigh just the tiniest bit. “That’s it, baby doll. You’re so good. You’re so goddamn gorgeous, Steve, look at you. Ah, fuck—” Bucky’s just come but if he could come again he would the second Steve looks up at him with those baby-blue eyes. His bitten-red mouth drops open as he stares up at Bucky. Bucky’s leg gets slicker and slicker with precum each time Steve ruts against him. “Lookit you, a work of art, fuck, Rogers, most goddamn beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on, lookit you lookin at me. Look.” Bucky threads his fingers through Steve’s sweat-darkened hair and tugs.

           Steve lets out a moan that only gets louder when Bucky lets his hand drop away from his mouth. “Bucky,” he says, face burning red, dark eyelashes fluttering over damn-near worshipful blue eyes, “Bucky,” and Bucky’s heart nearly breaks from the sweet way Steve says his name, voice cracking right down the middle. “Bucky, please.”

            “Come on, baby doll,” Bucky croons. He tiptoes his fingers down Steve’s spine, circling them over that sweet spot that makes Steve dig his teeth into Bucky’s skin again to muffle noise. Then he squeezes Steve’s ass. “Come on,” he says, and squeezes again.

            Steve’s spine draws tight. That gorgeous red mouth falls open, but only a squeak comes out. It takes Bucky a second to realize that Steve’s screaming so hard that he’s stopped making noise. His fingers draw gouges in Bucky’s arms as he comes hot and wet against Bucky’s thigh.

            Steve collapses against Bucky when he’s done. His chest’s heaving, his breath coming in wheezes that Bucky associates with asthma attacks. When Bucky tries to sit up to dig around for the asthma cigarettes, though, Steve grabs his arms and holds him tight, burying his face in his chest. Bucky wraps his arms around him, heart sinking a little at the way Steve shakes. “Sorry,” he says, mouth going dry. “M sorry, shoulda been gentler—ow!” Steve’s punched him in the shoulder. He follows it up by stroking his fingers over Bucky’s cheek—without even looking up, but maybe he just doesn’t have the strength to move yet. Bucky’s chest loosens a little at the realization that Steve’s not complaining. Just overwhelmed.

            “So,” he says once Steve’s breathing doesn’t whistle. He stares at the ceiling and tries not to sound as nervous as he feels. “How was that for your first time?”      

            Steve presses his lips to Bucky’s chest, all soft and tender. That’s all the answer Bucky needs. Steve decides to add words to it anyway. They’re muffled by Bucky’s skin, but Bucky can figure out what they are anyway: “Oh boy.”

            Bucky bursts out laughing. “What?” he asks, incredulous but somehow not surprised at all. ‘Oh boy’—what a typical dumb fucking Steve thing to say. “What was that? What did you say, Rogers?”

            Steve huffs. “Shove it up your ass, Barnes.”

            “We already did that.”

            Steve rockets upright. Bucky barely gets a glimpse of his scrunched-up, pissed-off face before Steve drags the pillow out from under his head and whacks him in the face with it. Bucky chokes on laughter and a mouthful of feathers. He reaches up blindly as he gets whacked in the face again. Steve yelps when Bucky wraps his arms around him and drags him down to rest on his chest again. “Cut that out,” Bucky says when Steve scowls at him. “You know I’m right.”

            Steve props his chin on Bucky’s chest and sighs. “Jerk.”

            “Punk.”

            “You know it.” Steve bites his lip, a surefire sign that he’s fighting a smile. He gets this mischievous glint in his eyes that makes Bucky smirk.

            “What’re you thinking about, Rogers?” Steve shrugs. “Thinkin’ about me?” Steve shrugs again, good as a yes. Bucky’s voice slips into a drawl. “What you thinking about me?” Steve drops his gaze to Bucky’s chest and mumbles something. Bucky cups a hand behind his ear. “What was that? I don’t speak mumble.”

            Steve looks up sharply. His blue eyes are bright when he looks at Bucky, intense in the way they get when Steve really wants something. Takes Bucky’s breath away. “Liked having my fingers in you,” Steve says. He’s still quiet, and his cheeks go just as red as they were when they were fucking, but his voice is deliberately clear. “Liked the sounds you made. You’re gonna get us kicked out, Barnes.”

            Bucky snorts. “Fuck you, Rogers,” he says, trying to ignore the way his stomach lurches with lust. Then he realizes that he doesn’t have to ignore it. He reaches down and squeezes Steve’s ass. Steve shudders, biting his lip. “You’re the noisiest little shit I know.”

            Steve’s eyes flash. Bucky thinks he’s going to get hit with the pillow again. Instead, Steve surges upward and catches his mouth in a searing kiss.

            It’s a hot night anyway, too hot for real sleep. Steve and Bucky find better things to while the hours away.


End file.
